


summer's on its deathbed

by queerbashir



Series: another x on the calendar [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fantasy Racism, Gay Stuff, It's the Dragonborn he's trans, M/M, Queer Character, Queer Skyrim, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, background lydia/aela, he's doing his best, skyrim sign language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerbashir/pseuds/queerbashir
Summary: Gilmoren came to Skyrim to find himself. He got a lot more than he bargained for
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ralof
Series: another x on the calendar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104293
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh golly. It's been years since I wrote anything. Be nice pls

Gilmoren was not having a good day. He had probably had worse, but this one was certainly up there. Lydia was being kind enough not to laugh at him. Why a group of presumably old men (they were literally called Greybeards after all) lived at the top of so many gods damned stairs was a mystery. It was charitable to call these stairs however: the stone was cracked and covered in snow. In some places the stairs were completely concealed by snow, and they had to hunt for the next level so they could continue. When the ground leveled off they were able to move a bit easier. It was then Gilmoren could take a moment to appreciate their surroundings. The snow, aggravating as it was, was gorgeous. It sparkled in the sunlight and for now it was at least falling gently. Snow was still a novelty to him They approached a sort of canyon of ice. At the other side of it, Lydia could see the next set of stairs. But as they approached she suddenly stilled, throwing an arm out to stop him.

"Did you see that?" she asked in hushed tones.

"No, what?" his heart was already starting to pound his chest, his palms making his gloves damp. His eyes roved over their surroundings, looking for whatever danger Lydia had spotted, but could find nothing. Typical. Lydia used one arm to gingerly unsheath her sword, and the other to point high on the ice. Gilmoren followed her hand, and could just barely make out a pale form moving. It's fur was almost the same color as the snow.

"Frost troll. Have you ever seen one?" she asked.

"I can barely see it now" he was carefully reaching for his bow as he spoke.

"They're not terribly smart, but it's probably three times your size. Try to be quiet, otherwise this isn't going to be fun" she warned. Gilmoren tried not to roll his eyes. When he had an arrow ready, Lydia started to slowly walk towards the stairs. They both had an eye on the troll, who seemed perfectly happy where it was, several feet over their heads. They could probably sneak past it without a problem.

And then he sneezed.

The troll roared over their heads, its feet stomping hard against the snow. They could hear it coming towards the path leading down to them. Lydia swore and charged forward.

"Try not to hit me!" she yelled over her shoulder, already raising her broadsword. Gilmoren swallowed hard and centered himself, grateful for his gloves that gripped better than his bare sweaty palms. The troll was hideous; it's fur was matted with dirt and what looked like dried blood. He tried to aim for a moment, then gave up when the troll was still blending too well into the surroundings. He fished around for his glasses, shoved them on, and had more success that way. Breathing slowly so as to not fog them, he let one arrow loose and hit the beast in the shoulder. It roared in pain, and Lydia was able to slash at it's stomach. While it was doubled over, Gilmoren landed another arrow near the first. Lydia lifted her sword and with a roar, buried it in the creature's back. As the troll died at Lydia's feet, Gilmoren scanned the environment for any other friendly faces. Seeing none, he made his way over to her. Lydia was breathing heavily as she yanked her sword out of the creature. Gilmoren considered briefly inspecting the wounds for fat to harvest, but Lydia's expression changed his mind.

"Are you hurt?" he asked instead. She shook her head, making a disgusted face at the muck on her sword. She wiped it on the snow before resheathing it.

"I'm going to cut your bloody nose off, my Thane" she answered, not completely without humor.

"I'm sorry. You'd think there's nothing to sneeze at in this weather." he said. Lydia shrugged. They kept moving, adrenaline warming them as the snow fell. They were quiet for a bit.

"A Shout may have dealt with the beast faster, but I haven’t seen you Shout since we've left Whiterun. I hope you're not playing me for a fool and hiking up here for the hell of it." Lydia said.

"It was honestly a fluke thing the first time. I'm not entirely convinced this isn't all a mistake. If it is, you have my blessings as Thane to stab me." That made her chuckle.

"So you really didn't know? That's amazing. Does being Dragonborn mean you can Shout better than Ulfric?"

"That's the sort of thing I think the Greybeards are meant to explain. I certainly don't want to meet Ulfric again, battlefield or elsewhere."

"Again?" Lydia looked at him, shocked. "When have you met Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"He was at Helgen, when the dragon attacked." Gilmoren explained. "Remember how I told you I ended up there accidentally? I was crossing the border, I didn't know where I was going I was just sort of...going. I was standing in a field, and suddenly, there was a bunch of Stormcloaks behind me, running. They were moving much faster than me, and I got mixed in. That's when the Imperials caught up to us. Somewhere in that mess I hit my head, and I don't remember a lot of it. But then I was in a wagon, sitting next to Ulfric, without a clue who he was. There was another man, Ralof, he was kind, he caught me up on what was going on. We got to Helgen and...well I think you know the next part." he finished lamely.

"Damn, and to think, we were that close to having the war be over. If the dragon had waited a few minutes, Ulfric would have been executed." Lydia mused. They had reached another gap in the steps, and were hunting around the snow for the next set. Gilmoren was visibly shaking from the cold, but Lydia seemed unbothered. Heavy metal armor must be more insulating than his own leather.

"Well so would I." he pointed out. Lydia sighed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that, my Thane." Gilmoren waved a hand at her apology.

"I wasn't offended. But you don't care for Ulfric?" he pressed. Lydia looked over at him.

"You want my opinion, sir?" she double checked.

"Yes, and I want you to stop calling me 'sir' while you're at it. It's odd.". He answered. All he knew was vague talk he had overheard about the war, although everyone seemed to have incredibly strong feelings.

"I don't … I understand where they're coming from.” Lydia said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, “The Stormcloaks I mean. I don't like the Empire either. I think it would be a good thing for Skyrim to self govern. But some people have taken that, and use it as an excuse to be shits to anyone who isn't a Nord. And Ulfric doesn't seem to give a damn. I spent some time in Windhelm, where he is the Jarl. His soldiers terrorize the dark elves, and he doesn't say a thing. I'm tired of it. And I'm tired of seeing people hurt so big headed men can redraw a line on a map." she looked at the ground as she spoke, almost shy.

"I suppose I was more sheltered than I thought, I hardly even knew there was a war on." he said, hoping to encourage her to talk more. "I mean I knew vaguely there was conflict, but my parents didn't really talk politics. I'm surprised he has such a huge following with those kinds of problems. Is his claim to the throne that strong?"

"Technically, I don't think so. But the man is a living legend, the Nords take legend very seriously. Until you stumbled over here, he was the only man outside the Greybeards who knew how to Shout.” Lydia explained. Gilmoren nodded along as she spoke, trying to commit everything to memory. “But the final straw for many was when Talos worship was outlawed. Like I said, Nords take their legends seriously.”

"I know a thing or two about that. So does that mean the Greybeards back the Stormcloaks?" he asked. Lydia shrugged

"I don't think. I think their whole deal is staying isolated from the rest of the world. Hence the whole monastery-on-a-mountain thing". she said.

"Good point." Gilmoren noted. This was. A lot. So this civil war had someone who could Shout on one side. Hopefully the Empire wasn't going to come evangelizing at his door trying to even things out. The idea made him slightly nauseated. He tried very hard not to think about politics as then continued up the stone stairs.

As they climbed, the wind blew sharper against their faces. Gilmoren was starting to breathe heavily and fog up his glasses. He slipped them off his face and back into the little case Farengar had given him. Even without them, he could see the snow glittering. He tried to enjoy that, even if he was losing feeling in his face.

The monastery was imposing. It was large and made of cold looking stone. In front of the building was a pile of offerings: cloth bags probably filled with food. Gilmoren ignored his own rumbling stomach as they trudged up what was hopefully the last set of stairs for the day. The pair hesitated at the door.

"Do we knock?"

"I don't know. you're in charge"

"You have a point." he huffed. He contemplated the large door for a moment, then raised his arm and banged his fist against the stone.

"I don't think anyone could hear that." Lydia said.

"I'm open to suggestions." he snapped back. His teeth chattered painfully as he talked "I can't just walk in!"

"Why not? They invited you, didn't they?" she pointed out.

"That doesn't mean I can just -" before he could finish his sentence, Lydia was pushing past him and shoving the door open. Cursing under his breath, he followed. The inside of the monastery was just as imposing as the outside. The ceiling was massive and cavernous - probably good for Shouting. The walls were bare, with one large room branching off into hallways. A few hooded figures were standing near the middle of the room. They were gesturing, but not talking.

"Excuse me! I'm escorting the Dragonborn, could we talk to someone?" Lydia called out, her voice echoing off the walls. It made Gilmoren flush with anxiety. He started trying to brush the snow off himself. The hooded figures all turned, and one approached them.

“You’ve finally come! I am relieved, some of us feared you would not answer the Call.” the person said. “I am Master Arngeir. It is an honor to meet you, Dragonborn. Assuming you are indeed, Dragonborn.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me” Gilmoren shrugged. “My name is Gilmoren. I’ve come to learn.” As he approached the circle, Gilmoren became more aware of the way the people were gesturing at each other, not speaking. He looked at Lydia, who shrugged.

"Oh, forgive me," Arngeir chuckled, "it's been so long since we had a visitor. The other Greybeards do not speak, their whispers could cause an avalanche. Instead we have a hand signed language, I shall interpret anything they wish to say for you. Some of us have lost our hearing over time, but as I shall be accompanying you, it will not be a problem." Gilmoren nodded, fascinated. Arngeir signed to one of the people, who nodded and seemed to be steeling themself. "Master Borri is going to gift you their knowledge of a Word of Power. You will absorb this knowledge, and then demonstrate its Shout for us. That will show us proof that you are Dragonborn. If you are not, you will not be capable of absorbing his knowledge." Arngeir explained. He had a calming way of speaking that Gilmoren appreciated.

Master Borri breathed the Word out: it was a flurry of light that landed on the floor and burned it like paper. Gilmoren looked down as the Word etched itself into the stone floor. Tendrils of light crawled up from it, similar to before when the dragon fell. He stepped forward to get a closer look, and he could feel the warmth touch him: the light snaked up his arms and settled through his layers until he could feel it flush against his skin. It wasn't as warm as the dragon's soul had been, but it still felt nice. He thought knowledge of the Word would pop into his brain, but instead it felt more like a memory.

"Very good! You must be Dragonborn, to so easily learn a Word. Now: I will conjure a figure. Try to aim your Shout right at the figure." Arngeir instructed. He raised his hand and muttered a spell: a hazy blue hooded figure appeared. Gilmoren looked at the figure, down at the Word, and back at Arngeir. He felt a little silly.

"When you say try to Shout, I don't suppose you can be a bit more...specific?" he asked. "I don't really understand how to do it. Do I just...yell?"

"Let the Word guide you, Dragonborn. Do not overthink."

_That's not my name_

Gilmoren looked at the apparition floating in front of him. When he thought the Word in his head, it weighed heavily on his tongue. He let it sit there for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his mouth. He only felt a little silly.

_FUS_

The Word did not come from his tongue - it punched hard from somewhere deep in his gut. It knocked the breath from him and made him stumble back at the force of it. Lydia was just a step away to catch him before he fell on his ass like an idiot. The force of the Word also pushed forward and made the apparition waver. He gasped to catch his breath as the Greybeards stared at him, waiting. It took him a few moments to stand upright, though he still didn't feel quite right. He felt shaky, as if he had just run a long distance.

"Excellent!" Arngeir had clasped his hands together, his eyes lighting up, “A strong Shout. Your refractory period is also astounding, I'm impressed you're on your feet."

"I don't feel impressive, I feel nauseated." Gilmoren said. It was a strange sensation, but he did seem to be recovering quickly. The Shout left a buzzing feeling in his throat, as if he had swallowed a bee, but it was already fading, as was his nausea.

"Most beginners vomit, so that is not surprising. Still, the fact that you're on your feet and your lunch is intact is commendable. Let's move on. Follow me"

Gilmoren looked over at Lydia and gave her a look meant to say "More??" She shrugged back at him, and followed close behind him as they followed Master Arngeir.

"I have seen many overeager apprentices do damage to themselves. It takes the average person many years of training before they can even gaze upon a Word in its physical form, instead of drawn on paper." Arngeir told them as they walked through a large door and into a courtyard. "But thankfully we have only lost a few apprentices over the last, oh, hundred years or so. I am grateful for that." Lydia and Gilmoren exchanged a look behind his back.

When they arrived in the courtyard, Master Argneir breathed another Word into life. As it melted into the snow, he explained that this word was called Whirlwind Sprint, and that Gilmoren would practice it by Shouting and attempting to make it through a gate at the other side of the courtyard before it closed. Gilmoren let the Word climb up his arms and took his place.

This time was less effortless. He felt like he was ripping the Word from his insides, leaving his throat raw and his stomach heaving. Even though his legs didn’t move, he shot to the other side of the courtyard, his surroundings blurring. He landed hard on the other side of the gate. He bent forward and gagged hard, nothing coming up, but his body convulsing nevertheless. The convulsions made it hard to catch his breath, and the ground started to spin and shift under his feet. He was vaguely aware of a hand, probably Lydia's, on his shoulder. When he was able to calm the gagging, the hand gently pressed him down.

"Sit, you're going to hurt yourself." she murmured. Gilmoren nodded and let himself slump down to the ground. Shouting warmed him to the point that he didn't mind the snow under his ass. Lydia pressed a small bottle into his hand, which he took sips of. His hands were shaking so that he had to hold the glass with both hands to hold it steady. The Greybeards were signing among each other excitedly.

"Why would anyone want to learn this?" he huffed after a moment. Lydia shook her head. Once his legs felt functional, Gilmoren pushed himself up. Arngeir approached him 

"Well done, Dragonborn! We are thoroughly impressed, however we should stop for today in order to avoid further injury. Are you still in pain?"

"Only a bit. Healing potion took care of most of it." Gilmoren said. His throat still felt a bit raw, and the muscles in his stomach hurt, but the pain was rapidly fading. Arngeir nodded approvingly.

"I am glad to hear it. Let us move back inside. We will be taking our evening meal soon, you and your companion must join us. We can discuss your next steps." Arngeir beckoned them to follow him back through the door they had come out of. They re-entered the large room, and made their way down a hall.

"Have you got facilities somewhere?" Lydia asked. Arngeir chuckled

"Goodness, I am unaccustomed to hosting. This door right here" he pointed to a green door on the right hand side, "The eating area is at the end of this hall, you should have no difficulty finding us." Lydia nodded her thanks and ducked through the door. "Is she a mercenary?" he asked once the door swung shut.

"Um, sort of I suppose." Gilmoren said, "She's a housecarl. She keeps me from getting killed."

"An important position." Arngeir said. The eating area was another plain room with grey walls. They sat at a long table with large dishes people were helping themselves to. Gilmoren wasn't sure what to do with his bow: he couldn't sit with it strapped to his back, but leaning it against the wall seemed rude, like he was taking up more space than he should. He settled on holding it between his thighs as he sat, which was incredibly uncomfortable. For a few moments they ate in silence. Gilmoren watched the Greybeards sign to each other, interested but trying not to stare. One of them caught his eye, and smiled. They made a gesture, then pointed at Gilmoren.

"That is Master Eagon. He is showing you our sign for Dragonborn." Arngeir leaned over to say. Gilmoren made an "oh" expression and turned back to Eagon. But when he tried to copy the sign, Eagon shook his head. "You're mirroring him: the right arm goes up." Arngeir pointed out. Flushing, Gilmoren switched his arms around, and was met with an approving nod.

Lydia entered the room then, she leaned her sword against the wall and plopped down in a seat next to Gilmoren.

“Dragonborn, you have shown us great skill with Shouts already. However, it is important for you to face a final trial before we take you on as an apprentice.” Argneir started to explain. Gilmoren felt as if he had been through plenty already, but he nodded politely as Argneir explained his task: To retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller from a deep cavern called Ustengrav. “Jurgen Windcaller founded the Order of the Greybeards long ago, and if you are able to retrieve it and return it to us, we shall continue your training. However, you must rest here for the night. The 7,000 steps are treacherous enough by daylight, nighttime travel is simply out of the question.”

“Thank you, we appreciate your hospitality.” Gilmoren said, although he did not appreciate being sent on an errand. Sure, the horn belonged to Jurgen, but what use did these men, whose voices could shake ground hundreds of miles away, have with a horn? He turned to Lydia, “Should we try to get an early start?”

“Yes, I’d say we should rest as soon as we have eaten, so we don’t waste any light. I don’t want us still on the mountain when it starts to get dark, but a full day should get us to flat ground again.” she said in between massive forkfulls. Gilmoren nodded in agreement.

“Of course,” Master Argneir said, “Please feel free to retire as soon as your belly is full. Through the red door you will find unoccupied beds, help yourself to any of them.”

"Could I ask a question?"

"Of course, Dragonborn." 

"Why do you study Shouts? I mean, up until recently, there haven't been any dragon's to Shout at." Gilmoren hoped he wasn't being insensitive, but it didn't make sense to him. Eagon waved his hand to get Arngeir's attention. As he signed, Arngeir interpreted:

"I know it seems strange to many. The Way of the Voice is...a peaceful way to live. We are separate from the world, and are able to find enlightenment through the study of Shouts. Does this answer your question?"

"It does, thank you" Gilmoren said, looking back and forth, not sure which Master to look at, and settling on both. No one corrected him, so he assumed it was fine. Gilmoren didn't want to be rude, but he had had plenty of "spiritual enlightenment" evangelizing with his family through Valenwood his entire life. He did not intend to make a life on a freezing mountain, yelling at the sky and giving himself stomach aches. But he had gotten this far, and it seemed rude to not at least fetch the horn for them. The Greybeards were kind, even if Gilmoren didn't want to become one himself. It would be an adventure. 

When they were done eating and retired, Gilmoren could hardly keep his eyes open. The red door led them to a large room with several beds lined up. Gilmoren’s whole body ached enough that removing his armor was a chore. He let it drop to the floor, along with his pack, and flopped onto a bed. Lydia was more careful: placing her armor gently on the floor as she removed them, then pulling a cloth from her pack and wiping each piece individually. Then she pulled off the warm layers she wore between her armor and her under shirt and cotton pants. By the time she crawled into a bed next to Gilmoren, he was already snoring softly. Lydia rolled her eyes, and pulled the blankets over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I envision Daniel Jackson's voice for Gilmoren, from the tv series not the movie. Look up "Daniel Jackson Stargate" if you want to hear. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Its been years since I wrote anything but lots of time + a new effective cocktail of meds = fanfiction apparently


	2. Chapter 2

Gilmoren and Lydia had more luck descending the 7,000 steps than they had had ascending them the day before. No frost trolls roared at them, only the wind. Gilmoren regretted the haphazard way he had undressed the night before - he hadn’t made sure his armor was free of melted show before dropping it in a pile, so some pieces had wet on the inside. He didn’t trust his minimal knowledge of fire spells enough to dry them magically, so he had wiped it down the best he could, but the cold seemed to cut deeper anyway. The sun was nearly down when they reached level ground, and they rested near the bridge to Ivarstead. Gilmoren pulled out a map, and studied where the Greybeards had marked it. 

“Do you think it would be smartest if we went this way, which would take us back through Whiterun? We could stock up on supplies that way.” he suggested. 

“Where you go, I go, my Thane.” was the maddening answer. 

“Yes, I know, but you’re much more experienced than I am, so I’m counting on your opinion.” he pushed, tiredness making his temper short. Lydia thought for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. 

“I’d say yes. It won’t take us far at all out of the way, and it’s likely the best place to start.”

“Was it so hard to just tell me what you think?” he said, trying to tease but coming across more gruff than he had intended. 

“No, it just catches me off guard. Most of the Thanes I have served have been happy enough to drag me through their mistakes, so this is nice for a change.” she explained with a shrug. 

“I’m still dragging you with me.” he pointed out. And frankly, Gilmoren wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a mistake. Sure, he was Dragonborn, but he wasn’t feeling at all like a hero of legend. Learning to Shout had not been enjoyable, and he wasn’t sure how useful the skill would even be to him. Say he returned with the horn and continued to apprentice with the Greybeards: he wasn’t planning on going into battle or becoming a career dragon hunter (if such a thing existed). What was the point in learning an unpleasant, and useless skill? This was supposed to be a fresh start. Away from the bullshit, somewhere he could figure himself out without constantly listening to his parents talk about vegetables. Somewhere people actually built lives for themselves. Instead of building himself a life, he was in the middle of something he didn’t entirely understand.

But then he remembered how horrified and confused everyone seemed to be. Dragons had been gone from Skyrim for hundreds of years, no one knew where they were coming from or how to protect themself. He thought of Helgen dissolving in flame and smoke. When he closed his eyes he could smell smoke. He could feel rope around his wrists. If Gilmoren kept his eyes closed, he’d start to breathe heavily, a knot forming in his stomach. So he opened his eyes instead. 

Gilmoren had no intention of going into the dragon hunting business, but perhaps if he continued to learn, he could help minimize their destruction at the very least. Maybe he could help real warriors, back them up with his Shouts as they defended their cities. So he rolled the map up and placed it in his pocket, and started on the road back to Whiterun. 

The road to Whiterun was also calmer than the day before had been. He kept his arrow drawn, ready to shoot at passing squirrels and elk. They were nearly half way back to Whiterun when he shot down an elk, and they were able to prepare it as their supper. They ate in companionable silence next to a fire that Gilmoren had started. He took first watch as Lydia stretched out to rest, still wearing most of her armor but stuffed warmly in her bedroll. 

Skyrim night time was loud. He could hear animals scampering around them, even though he couldn’t see them in the dark. Wind whistled between the trees, not as cold as on the mountain but still loud. He fidgeted with his bow, jumping at every noise. He felt both relieved and guilty when the moon reached the highest point of the sky, signalling for him to wake Lydia. She woke quickly with no complaint, pulling herself out of her bedroll and yawning. As Gilmoren settled, she was putting a cup of water on a stone next to the fire, then fidgeting in a pouch, probably for tea. She was humming quietly, as she seemed to be in the habit of doing at night. Maybe it kept her awake. It had the opposite effect on Gilmoren as he snuggled as deeply into his bedroll as he could. 

-

Lydia shook him awake shortly after the sun rose. His back ached, even the ground in Skyrim seemed to be tougher. She handed him a steaming cup of tea, and he thanked her. It was bitter and not to his taste, but he enjoyed the novelty of it. No one in his family drank tea. They started their days with warmed milk, or just warmed water. Lydia had looked at him like he was a lunatic when he had done that their first morning together. 

"Aren't you missing something?" she had said, sort of shaking the little bag at him. They had stared at each other in confusion for a moment, before Lydia elaborated: "You didn't add the tea leaves."

"The what?" he had asked. They had gone back and forth a few times before Lydia was convinced he had never seen tea leaves before, and wasn't just pulling her leg. She then let him sniff at the bag while she explained how the leaves were dried, and then added to the water. The smell of the leaves alone made him sneeze, but once they were steeped he was tempted to try. Morning tea had already become a habit for him now, even if it was a bit bitter for him. 

Gilmoren needed a way to make some coin, so they travelled slowly on the way to Whiterun so he could hunt as they went. Lydia was a fine hunter, but it was Gilmoren's strong suit, and he liked being better at something for once. By the time they arrived in Whiterun he had several good cuts of meat wrapped in his bag to sell. Gilmoren made sure to wave at the blacksmith as they entered the city, even though he had already forgotten her name. They went to the marketplace, where they sold most of the meat and restocked on other food. The woman selling vegetables seemed to be glaring at Gilmoren as he sniffled over her wares, so he paid and moved along quickly. Then they stepped into Arcadia's to restock on potions. Gilmoren used his extra coin to pay for some alchemy instructions. Arcadia praised the way he had wrapped the plants he collected, and taught him techniques to properly cut them while Lydia waited near the door. When they were done, they walked over to the inn to eat and rest before they moved on. As they ate, sometimes people came over to greet Lydia. She talked the most to a big man with dark hair and warpaint smudged around his eyes. Gilmoren put a hand to his own face, suddenly self conscious that his own paint was smeared. He looked down at his plate until the man said good-bye. When he looked back up, Lydia had a contented smile on her face. 

"You're pretty popular." he commented. Lydia shrugged. 

"Lots of good people in Whiterun. I'm glad we stopped, it's good to see them." she said. "Like that one," she gestured to the man she had been talking to, who had moved to the counter. Now that he had his back to them, Gilmoren could stare. He was wearing bulky armor that looked uncomfortable, but the man wore it easily "He's a Companion. They're a group of warriors that use their muscle to help others. They're honorable people." Gilmoren listened as she went on to describe the Companions, and their reputation. He nodded as she spoke, absorbing the best he could while also eating, and sneaking looks at the man. "...sorry, my Thane, Gilmoren, I've been talking for ages". 

"I know you are, I'm listening. You don't have anything to apologize for." he tried to encourage her. "If the Companions are so honorable, why did you decide to be a housecarl? Especially if us Thanes are always so bossy." 

"Coin, for one. I needed to send money to my mother. My little sister is old enough to take care of her now, so I don't have to worry as much. But the Jarl is a good man, he does his best, and I like going where he needs me. Even if the people he works with aren't always my favorite. " she explained. "If he needs someone protected, I'm happy to do it."

"Have you had bad experiences?"

"Oh, plenty." she scoffed. She told a story about a man the Jarl asked her to escort to Solitude. The man ignored her when she spoke, not following her advice, and he insisted they take a "shortcut" through the woods. They ran into a group of bandits, and barely made it out alive. 

"What's the point of hiring you, if they're not going to listen to you?" 

"The Jarl knows they'll die without me, so he insists, and they don't argue." she shrugged. "I don't worry about it. I just go where I'm needed." 

When they finished eating, they talked about their next move. They decided it was late enough they didn't want to continue on the road, and staying the night was their best bet. Gilmoren was easily persuaded to stay at the inn: he was accustomed to sleeping on the ground, but relished the luxury of a bed. He made Lydia talk to the innkeeper though. He watched her chat with the innkeeper, and with the Companion who was still sitting there. Whatever she was saying made them both laugh. It made him glad they had decided to stop in Whiterun. 

Lydia came back after a few minutes with two room keys with numbers on them. Already feeling heavy and sleepy, Gilmoren took one and pushed away from the table. 

"I'm going to stay down here a bit longer. Rest well." she said, taking her seat again. Gilmoren gave her a sleepy smile and headed up the stairs. He matched his room key number to a number on a door, and pushed it open. The room was simple and comfortable, with a bed and a small table. Gilmoren noticed a door on one wall and pushed it open, and was thrilled to see a private bathing room. Door locked and bag thrown into the floor, Gilmoren took his armor off with more care than he had done before. He brushed off the dirt and grass, and then hung the pieces on a hook on one wall. The bathing room had a small tub, and a bit of paper with instructions on how to run the water. As the tub filled, he pulled off his sweaty underclothes. He smelled disgusting. 

The water was warm, not hot, which Gilmoren found plenty comfortable. He stepped in gingerly, and then slowly sank into the water with a contented sigh. He had been longing to bathe, but had felt too awkward to ask Lydia if they could stop by one of the more calm rivers. But Skyrim was cold enough that outdoor bathing might not be comfortable anyway. So he made sure to enjoy this chance, relaxing in the water and using the plain soaps that the inn provided. He didn't get out until he was pruny. When he was out of the bath and redressed, he rinsed his dirty clothes in the sink and laid them out to dry. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. Once he was satisfied that everything was as clean as possibly, he crawled into the bed. He fanned his wet hair up so it wouldn't be stuck to his cheeks uncomfortably. 

_ Once I've got this sorted out _ , he thought,  _ maybe I'll come back here. I could find work here. And I'll save coin until I can have a bed as soft as this one.  _ That thought lulled him into a comfortable sleep. 




When they left the inn, the sun had just come over the horizon. The air was crisp, but not terribly cold. Gilmoren had his hood down, letting the wind toss his hair to finish drying it. Even though he had bathed the night before, it was still not completely dry. 

As they walked down the main road to the gate, they passed a house with a sign reading "available" on it. Gilmoren made a point to draw Lydia's attention to it. 

"Do houses become available often in Whiterun?" he asked. 

"Not really, that one's been empty for ages though. There's a tavern right around the corner, no one wants to listen to drunks stumbling home every night." 

"I don't think that sounds too bad. I've slept through plenty of parties since I was a kid." he shrugged. "I'm plenty used to it."

"What kind of parties is a kid sleeping through?" Lydia asked. As they walked through the gates into the open world, Gilmoren wrinkled his nose at the smell of the nearby stable. 

**"** Well they're not parties, technically they're ceremonies. My parents, they're disciples of Y'ffre. The ceremonies get a bit...er... enthusiastic, I suppose. " he described an abridged version of how his family followed their faith: following the Green Pact, holding loud ceremonies to honor her with singing and dancing. 

"You can’t eat  _ any  _ plants? I suppose that's why you've never had tea before." Lydia noted. 

“I couldn’t before, no. But I’ll do as I please now.” 

They walked mostly in amicable silence. This road was fairly empty, but calm, and most of the day passed by uneventfully. When they camped for the night, Gilmoren worked up the nerve to ask Lydia to help him practice his sword work. She was more than happy to oblige. He landed hard on his ass nearly every round. She shrugged and insisted it was normal: he didn't have much experience, whereas she had years of it. In real combat, they would continue their strategy of him hanging back with a bow and arrow. He had time to learn. 

Despite her reassurances, Gilmoren couldn't help but feel a bit foolish. Here he was, meant to fulfill this terribly important quest, and he couldn't handle a sword to save his life. Everything about Skyrim made him feel small, like an inconvenient child who Lydia had to take care of. He let Lydia sleep past her turn, and when he did lay down his sleep was restless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this wasn't very plot heavy, they gotta Get Places and have Feelings about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy crisis! A short chapter for you

Ustengrav was disgusting. It was a damp and miserable maze that stunk of death. Gilmoren had the cowl of his hood pulled up over his nose to make the air more bearable. He had the nose piece of his glasses holding it in place. This had the added disgusting benefit of soaking up his snot. 

Lydia was walking in front of him, creeping slowly with her sword drawn and ready. Gilmoren had to keep his eyes on the ground often to keep from slipping in the muck. Her breathing was impossibly loud in the quiet cave, and he took comfort in the sound. 

The walls of the corridors were lined with ancient bodies. It was impossible to anticipate which were bound by curses and would rise to attack them - after they passed one body that later rose and surprised them from behind, Gilmoren fell into the habit of shooting each body before they passed. It was slow, but it was better than being sneaked up upon. 

After clearing a large room of dragur, Gilmoren dropped down to a squat. His arms were shaking from the strain of shooting arrows. Lydia stood over him as he fished around in his pack for a healing potion, passing her one as well. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked, “Is there anything different I should be doing?” Lydia shook her head, sipping slowly from the potion. 

“You’re doing fine, we’ve got a good rhythm going. How are those arms feeling?”

“Not fantastic,” he admitted. 

“Then we will rest for a bit, no point overexerting yourself. Should we switch it up? Maybe more magic would suit you better.” she suggested. As she spoke she stretched her arms across her body. That seemed smart, so Gilmoren copied her. 

“I feel steadier with a bow, magic is hard to control. I don’t want to risk burning you.” he said. He didn’t mention how emotionally exhausting magic could be: you could feel the spell building up from your chest and buzzing down your arms, it made your heart race and your stomach tie itself in anxious knots. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as Shouts, but Gilmoren still wasn’t in a rush to rely on it. Lydia gave him an acknowledging nod. They stayed there for a bit, quietly eating and stretching their aching muscles. Or, at least Gilmoren’s muscles were aching. When they set off again, he didn’t hold his bow quite as tightly. 

It took the team over an hour to take down a horrifying draugr wearing what looked like a stone crown. When its bony body finally landed on the ground, so did Gilmoren. He was out of arrows and his whole body was shaking. He kept a loose grip on the hilt of his sword as Lydia scanned the chamber for further trouble. They were both covered in grave muck: the air was thick with the stench of it. Frankly, Gilmoren was out of the energy to care, and if something wanted to burst out of the wall and kill him, he wouldn’t have minded terribly. When Lydia seemed satisfied that there was no more danger, she plopped onto the stone platform in the middle of the room. Her armor clattered loudly against the stone. They sat like that for a long time, catching their breath. There seemed to be a faint sort of ringing noise, but he assumed it was a result of being clobbered over the head entirely too many times. 

“Alright. If you were a very important horn, where would you be?” Gilmoren asked. Lydia jerked her head over to the side, indicating a large chest on the platform. “Right,” he said, mentally preparing to push himself up to his feet. It took a few tries before he could stand without tipping over one way or the other. It took him longer than it probably should have to meet Lydia on the platform and plop down in front of the chest. The chest was locked, but said lock was rusted and felt ancient. He fumbled around his pockets, and eventually pulled out a lockpick. Holding the pick in one hand, he places his other hand on the outside of the lock and concentrated. Warmth started in his chest and rolled down his arm and into his fingers. He let them heat up just a bit before releasing the spell, and then entered the pick into the lock. It took a few more tries before popped it open. The effort created new aches in his chest. Lydia watched him shove the lid back and rummage around.

"You're not bad at that." she noted. 

"One of the older kids showed me that trick when I was little," he said, rummaging around, "Convinced me to help him break into someone's house after he showed it to me, he wanted to spy on the girls who lived there, and needed a lookout. I didn't know any better, but we got caught before we could traumatize anyone, so I don't feel too bad about using it. We left that town pretty quick."

There was a large shield, some gold, but no horn. He flopped back on his ass and shook his head. Lydia made a small humming noise and pushed up to her feet. Gilmoren wasn’t paying much attention to her, aggravated and trying to shake the persistent ringing from his ears. 

“Gilmoren, you’re not going to like this,” she said. He looked over at where she was standing next to a small table. There was a stand on the table and she was looking at whatever was on it. Grumbling under his breath, Gilmoren pushed himself up into a standing position and joined her. On the stand was a note. He grabbed it and opened it. He skimmed through it, and had to resist the urge to crumble it into a ball in his fist. 

“Someone beat us to it,” he muttered, handing the note to Lydia. As she took it and read through it, he pulled off a glove to rub at his ear. “My fucking ears are ringing so loud I can’t think,” he complained. She looked up, alarmed.

“I thought that was my ears. I hear it too,” she reached for her sword. Gilmoren reached for his as well, trying to isolate where the noise was coming from. It felt like the sound was coming from somewhere below, but also from inside his head. The longer he focused, it sounded less like ringing and more like -

"Music?" he muttered, confused. "I feel like I've heard it before." he started walking towards one side of the cavern, and saw a set of stone steps leading downward. 

"Gilmoren, I don't think that's a good idea." Lydia warned, creeping behind him. 

"I know, it just - I can't explain it, but I'm not worried." That was true, he felt the most relaxed he had that entire day. His feet wanted to follow the music down the stairs, so he let them. As he reached the bottom of the steps, the music grew louder, and his eyes were drawn to the far wall, where he could see a faint, blue light. As he got closer, the tendrils of light started to reach for him, and he recognized the Word. 

"Gods, I'm never going to get used to that" Lydia said behind him. He ignored her and crossed over to the wall. He reached out and placed one hand on the stone. The stone was warm to the touch. As the light crawled up his arms and settled into his skin, Gilmoren let himself lean on the wall for support. The Word invigorated him, but the knowledge didn't pop into the back of his mind like it had with the Greybeards. He frowned. 

"Something isn't working properly."

"...what do you mean it isn't working properly?"

"Well I don't know, that's the problem." he frowned 

"If you feel alright, I wouldn't worry about it. You only trained with the Greybeards for a day, it's probably something you haven't learned yet." she pointed out. "And not to rush you, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better continuing this conversation above ground."

Still unsatisfied, Gilmoren nodded and turned away from the wall. He followed Lydia, who told him these deep caves normally have a hidden door to the surface. "They can never be activated from the surface, or else we could have skipped most of the work. Figures." 

"I'm never taking fresh air for granted again," Gilmoren said when they reached the surface, pulling the cowl from his face and sneezing. He fumbled at his pockets for a handkerchief: Lydia saw one hanging out of his armor, snagged it, and handed it to him. 

"What now, my Thane?" she asked. Gilmoren blew his nose and looked around. The land was flat here, and a river was lazily flowing towards Whiterun in the distance. They could see a problem coming for miles. 

"Now, my Housecarl: a bath." 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends, pls note the rating changed for ~gay things~
> 
> a mild TW for mildly tipsy sex. No one is drunk/incapacitated

"I still say this is a bad idea," 

"You haven't offered me a better one,"

The pair had started on the road early that day, and had been arguing the entire time. For someone who claimed she was accustomed to being spoken over, Lydia certainly had a lot to say. 

"I have: we go back to the Greybeards. Keep studying. You have no idea what we're walking into."

"Are you eager to watch me yell at things? If they even let me in the door without the horn. We're going to Riverwood, and we're getting the horn." he said, for what was probably the fourth time. 

"I've been on dozens of excursions where the treasure was already taken. It happens. They'll understand." she prodded.

"Or they'll say 'Dragonborn, you are clearly incapable of the most simple task, so we don't see any reason to continue training you'. I have to at least try."

"You did try, or are you forgetting the feeling of being ankle deep in draugr muck?"

"Well clearly I need to try a little bit more."

They were tensely silent for a bit. Gilmoren did his best to ignore the irritation emanating from Lydia. They had been talking in circles at each other all morning. Gilmoren didn't understand why she was fighting him so hard on this: whoever left the note told them to meet in Riverwood, what danger could they face in the middle of a town? Returning to the Greybeards empty handed was a humiliating concept. But not having Lydia on his side was just as frustrating. He reached out and grabbed her gently by the elbow, just enough to make her pause and face him. 

"Listen.. maybe I'm wrong. Maybe whoever took the horn is hiding in a bush in Riverwood, waiting to kill me. If they are, you're welcome to step aside and let them, it'll be my own fault. But I'm not sure I'm really important enough for some kind of...well planned out assassination. I'm a foreigner with a loud party trick. Who is going to go to this much trouble to kill me? It would be stupid. That tells me they just want something for the horn, probably coin. I'll meet with them, get the horn, and bring it back to the Greybeards."

"Whatever you say, my Thane." Lydia said flatly. Gilmoren groaned out loud.

"If you're so convinced that I'm wrong, we'll go by Whiterun anyway, just stay there! Tell the Jarl I'm insufferable and don't want you anymore." He kicked at a stone as he spoke, but he missed it and landed on his ass. Dirt tufted up around him. Embarrassment prickled in his stomach. Lydia, to her credit, only chuckled softly. She offered him a hand that he accepted. She followed him as he brushed himself off and kept stomping forward. As they walked, the tension started to lift. 

“Why are you still here if you think I'm stupid?" he grumbled

"I've never called you stupid." she pointed out.

"Right, but you're convinced I'm making a mistake taking us to Riverwood." 

"I think you're green. I think you're taking risks you don't need to take." she huffed, not looking at him, "But I also think you're a good man. Picking a good man up off his ass isn't the worst way to spend one's time. So if you're so sure about this, then Riverwood it is. " 

That statement hung in the air. It made Gilmoren's breath catch, just a bit. 

"I - yes. You too. Thank you." 

\----

Gilmoren forced himself to breathe, watching Lydia's arms move and struggling to keep pace with her. Their swords clanged loudly in the evening sir, occasionally they startled a bird into flight. He noticed Lydia step on a root and pressed that chance: he swung his sword in a way that forced her to balance on that foot, she wobbled and he took that opportunity to run backwards a few feet. 

"Yes, good!" she encouraged, rushing at him. Gilmoren braced himself, then jumped to the side at the last minute. It took Lydia a second to turn to catch up with him, and when she did he already had his sword up to meet hers. She roared her approval. 

"Game! Game." she panted, dropping her sword. Gilmoren did the same, using his sleeve to wipe sweat from his upper lip. It had been a good while since he had shaved his face, and sweat collected in the stubble. 

"I'm done for the night." he declared, trying to shake the ache out of his arms. "As soon as I've got the stench of death off me, I already smell of my own stink." 

That made Lydia laugh. They plopped themselves by the fire, wiping their weapons down and putting them away properly. 

"You are improving, Thane, you're a fast learner." Lydia said as they tidied,"I can see your fighting style beginning to form: you're not especially strong, but you can exhaust your opponent. And you’re tricky." 

Once his sword was away, Gilmoren started to fuss at the fire and get supper started for them. The sun continued to set as they ate. 

"Let's assume" Lydia said after a while, "we get the horn and walk it up to the Greybeards. What will you do then? Go off dragon slaying?"

"If I never see another dragon again, it will be too soon.” he laughed, “No, I'll stay with the Greybeards for a bit. See what they have to teach me. You can head back to Whiterun, you'll be bored watching me try not to throw up on Arngeir's shoes." he sighed. The idea of more training was not ... especially appealing. But Gilmoren had a feeling it would be worth it. "Then I'll move around for a while. See Skyrim. That  _ was _ my original plan. I can tell the real warriors what I learn about dragons, help them defend their holds. Find somewhere to land for good, eventually."

"Will you return to Whiterun?"

"I think. It could be nice, maybe I'll see if Arcadia would like an apprentice. I could do that, and help the Jarl in my spare time."

"That's an honorable plan," she replied, " And if you'd have me back, I'll be waiting when you descend the 7,000 steps again." 

"You want to travel Skyrim with a green Elf you have to look after?" he joked. But Lydia was looking up at the sky, a serious expression on her face. 

"I want to travel Skyrim with a good man." she said after a moment, "With my Thane, the first one worthy of the title." 

Her earnestness caught Gilmoren off guard: embarrassment ate at his stomach, and he had to look away from her. He watched the fire instead.

"You think a lot of me. I hope I live up to it." he said eventually. 

"I hope so too. These are strange times. Dragons appearing from nowhere, a civil war with no end in sight. You're here for a reason, and I feel it has always been my destiny to aid someone… someone here to help, I suppose." 

"I thought you didn't believe in Nord legends." he remembered. 

"I don't. But you're not just a story, you're as real as I am." 

Gilmoren watched the flames dance as Lydia spoke. He listened as she told stories about growing up hearing stories about honor, but being let down by honorable people everywhere she turned. 

When the guards of Whiterun spoke of him being a god, Gilmoren had felt sick to his stomach. In just a few days, the weight of the world had been dropped on his shoulders. But now, sitting by the fire with a friend, he finally felt the ground solid beneath him. 

Gilmoren didn't feel like a God. But he could be a helper.

\----

The next day, as they approached Riverwood, Gilmoren heard someone shout his name in the distance. Looking ahead, he could see someone waving at him near the entrance to the town. He waved back, before shrugging at Lydia. The person jogged towards them and met them in the middle, and as he approached Gilmoren could see his face now - 

"Ralof! You look well!" he smiled. The other man was positively beaming at him. He extended his hand to shake, which Ralof used to pull him into an enthusiastic hug. It was a bit awkward, but Gilmoren didn't terribly mind. 

"My friend! I'm so happy to see you, I heard the dragon moved on to Whiterun and I feared for you!" Ralof said, squeezing the elf tightly. Gilmoren laughed at his enthusiasm. When he pulled back, Ralof stooped down a bit to look Gilmoren in the eye: his gaze was intense and hard to meet. 

"I'm happy to see you as well, I'm surprised you're still in Riverwood?" 

"I'm here a bit longer, I heard word that a battalion will be passing nearby in about a week, I'm waiting for them to get closer and I plan to meet them. But you are coming through? Please, let me buy you a drink. And your friend?" he turned to Lydia for the first time. 

"This is my Housecarl, Lydia."

"Housecarl? My Thane, forgive me that I didn't address you as such!" 

Gilmoren shrugged it off. The three continued towards Riverwood, Ralof kept an arm around Gilmoren's shoulders. The closeness made his stomach flutter. "That's a long story. I'm here to meet someone to...do some business," he lied awkwardly. If Ralof noticed, he didn't question him. "But perhaps I could meet you after, if you've nowhere to be?" 

"Where are you doing this business?"

"I am meeting an associate at the inn."

"Perfect! I was going to spend the evening drinking alone, I'd much rather drink with the two of you." 

As they walked, Lydia caught Gilmoren's eye and raised her eyebrows. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile: this was alright, Ralof was not a threat. Ralof seemed oblivious to their silent conversation, chatting and keeping Gilmoren close to his side. Ralof walked quickly, and Gilmoren had to watch his step in order to keep pace. Ralof didn't let him go until they approached the inn- then he opened the door and let Gilmoren and Lydia in before himself. 

"I'm going to grab a seat," he hooked his thumb towards a table in the corner, "Find me when you're finished?"

Gilmoren promised they'd find him, and then turned to Lydia. He scanned the room, unsure of how exactly to proceed. There were a handful of people in the room: a bard singing softly near the fire, a few people at tables, and a woman sweeping. She seemed the best bet, so Gilmoren swallowed hard and walked up to her. 

"Hi, uh, good afternoon. I'm looking to rent the attic room." he said, feeling a little silly. The woman kept sweeping, looking from Gilmoren to Lydia skeptically for a moment. She looked down at the floor as she spoke

"Well we don't have an attic room, but the one behind me is free. You can take a look, if you like." 

Gilmoren stared at her for a second, confused. Had he made a mistake? Had he said the wrong thing? The note said - 

"Go along," the woman hissed under her breath, before turning away from them to shout at a man who had appeared behind the counter. Lydia touched the back of Gilmoren's elbow briefly, and her presence emboldened him. He headed for the room the woman had indicated, pulling the door open and stepping inside. He was mildly disappointed when the horn wasn't laying out on the bed. Of course this couldn't be easy. After a moment, the woman followed behind them. 

"Alright, now we can talk," she said, in a normal voice now. The woman was solid looking, and the look she gave Gilmoren made him avert his own gaze. She brushed past him to a chest, which she unlocked and rummaged through. When she turned back, she was holding a dirty horn. "I'm giving you this now, all I want is to talk, alright?"

"Alright," he said, reaching a hand out. When he took the horn, he was surprised at how light it was. He held it close to his chest. "What do you have to say?"

The woman turned away again and opened a wardrobe. She shoved all the clothes to one side of the rack, and pushed against the back of the wardrobe. The back rolled way, revealing a staircase. The woman beckoned over her shoulder for the pair to follow. Lydia caught Gilmoren by the elbow; he nodded towards the woman. Obviously displeased, Lydia walked through the passage first. She had a hand on her sword. 

"Call me Delphine. So are you really the Dragonborn?" the woman asked as they walked down the stairs. They ended up in a small bunker type room. There was a map spread out on a table, and various books and pieces of equipment laying around. 

"Uh, yes. That's me."

"You don't sound terribly convinced. But we'll see. You're...smaller than I was expecting" 

"Talk quickly, what business do you have with the Thane?" Lydia interrupted. The woman cocked an eyebrow. 

"Tell your dog to settle. I'm a friend," she leaned against the table, crossing her arms, "I gave you the horn, didn't I? Sorry you had to go through Ustengrav for nothing. I had to make sure you weren't a Thalmor trap. I owe you a drink." 

"Why is it so important for you to talk to me? I don't have anything to offer you." he said, choosing to ignore the woman's abrasiveness. 

"If you're the Dragonborn, that's not true. I'm not showing you my entire hand until I see proof for myself. But I can give you an...overview of sorts. I'm part of a group whose duty is to protect the Dragonborn, and to fight dragons. It's been desk duty until recently."

"But now dragons are returning to Skyrim."

"They're not just returning. They're coming back to life. The entire race has been dead for thousands of years, and now someone is bringing them back." 

"...I'm sorry, that's fucking insane," he blurted out, nervously tightening his grip on the horn, and trying to remember how far he was from the door. This conversation was taking a sharp left turn, and he wasn't sure he liked it. 

"I know how it sounds. But I can prove it. Ive been tracking where dragons are appearing, and I've isolated a pattern. The next one should appear in Kynesgrove. We can go together: you'll see I'm not a lunatic, and I'll see that you're truly the Dragonborn." 

Lydia caught his eye. "How do I know I can trust you?" he asked. Delphine snorted. 

"If you don't trust me, you're a fucking fool for coming down here."

"That's fair. But you're telling quite the story, and not giving me much proof," he pushed. 

"Come to Kynesgrove. I see proof you're the Dragonborn, I'll tell you anything you want to know. Try to understand. I've spent most of my life waiting for the next Dragonborn." 

Gilmoren looked down at the horn, then at Lydia. She had her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she gave him a nod. Learning how to stop dragons was the plan, and if Delphine was telling the truth, then this certainly deserved a detour. And something in her eye pushed him to a decision. 

"Alright. We're in."

Delphine nodded brusquely. "Good. it's getting too late to head out. We can go in the morning. The two of you can stay for free tonight, would you prefer two rooms, or are you not that professional?" she asked, giving Gilmoren a thorough once over. 

"Two would be good, thank you." Gilmoren replied, a little confused. Lydia, however, flushed. Delphine shrugged, and fiddled in her pockets. She produced a key and held it out. 

"Fine by me. One of you take the room next to this one. See my partner behind the counter for the key. Here's the key to this room. "

Gilmoren took the offered key, and headed back up the staircase after shoving the horn into his pack. Part of him wondered if they should leave now, head for the Greybeards and not look back. But they were committed now. 

True to his word, Ralof was sitting in the same spot. He seemed to be the only person in the room not actively listening to the bard. Gilmoren slid onto the bench next to him after a second of hesitation. Lydia sat across from them. Ralof instantly perked up and called for more ale. 

"Tell me, friend, where have you been in the last days? I've heard talk, you know." he said. Gilmoren took his mug gratefully and held it with both hands. He gave Ralof a very abridged version of events: that he visited the Greybeards, and met with another person who could teach him about dragons.

"And yourself? Are you itching to return to battle?" Gilmoren asked, eager to discuss anything other than dragons, even politics. Ralof was all too eager to discuss the war, talking about his he missed the thrill of open battle. He spoke of Ulfric much like Gilmoren's parents talked about their gods: he was a savior, invincible in battle, kind and just, but a storm in human form. Gilmoren found his devotion engaging, while Lydia was leaking distaste from her pores. She was polite and quiet however, and only occasionally challenged everything Ralof stood for. 

"We could use good people like you, you know," he said eventually, clapping Gilmoren on the back. "Imagine,  _ two _ people, leading armies with dragon Shouts! The Empire wouldn't stand a chance in hell," he said just a little too loudly. Gilmoren chuckled awkwardly. 

"I'm not much of a soldier. I'm too mouthy,"

"And you're too short," Lydia muttered into her mug. That made all three of them laugh, and Gilmoren was able to steer the conversation towards lighter subjects. Ralof was telling Gilmoren about his favorite places he had travelled in Skyrim when Lydia excused herself for the night.

It was easy to lose track listening to Ralof talk: he made the mundane Riverwood gossip feel exciting. Gilmoren let himself accept another ale, even if he probably shouldn't have, and find himself gravitating closer and closer to the other man. Ralof smelled like sawdust and just a hint of sweat. Gilmoren let Ralof wrap an arm around him, and listened to him talk about nothing. He stared at the other man's blonde hair, and absentmindedly reached up to play with the end of a braid. 

Ralof leaned in, speaking low into Gilmoren's ear: "I should be honest with you my friend, my intentions with you are not strictly conversational. I hoped to occupy you alone, if you're interested." 

It was not particularly romantic, but Gilmoren's stomach flipped all the same. Cheeks flushing, he leaned in just enough so that Ralof's mouth brushed against his ear. Alcohol made the elf bold: alcohol and a feeling that he was entitled to a relaxing evening. 

"W-would you like to bring your drink to my room?" he invited. Ralof hummed and gave the tip of his ear a feather light kiss.

"I'm right behind you." 

When Ralof closed the door, Gilmoren took his shirt in one hand and tugged him down for a kiss. Both their breath stunk of ale, but they were happy enough to ignore it. Ralof was warm and steady under Gilmoren's hand, and it was exactly what he needed. Ralof's hand went right to his ass, grabbing it firmly and dragging Gilmoren closer. Gilmoren, mindful of the already late hour, pulled his weight back so he could pull Ralof towards the bed. Ralof's grip was firm, but as soon as Gilmoren pulled away he relented. They stumbled over his pack on the floor, Gilmoren tripped and thankfully landed on the bed. His mug was mostly empty already, so he managed not to make a mess. 

Gilmoren's body was coursing with need, warm like a healing spell. As Ralof climbed on top of him, he wrapped his legs around his hips and dragged him down. Ralof seemed happy to oblige, grinding down against him and placing messy kisses on his cheek and neck. Gilmoren was grinding his hips up but not getting nearly the amount of friction he needed - he desperately needed to feel warmth against his skin. 

"Roll over, let me in your lap," he asked, blushing, but determined. Ralof groaned loud enough to make Gilmoren reach up and cover his mouth. 

"Don't get me kicked out of my room," he said softly, and hopefully in an enticing tone. Ralof muttered an apology, and scooted onto his back. Gilmoren greedily climbed into his lap, before thinking better of it and standing up. He looked Ralof in the eye as he reached his hands down and started to undo his pants. Ralof watched him, and started pulling his pants off as well. 

"I'd like to fuck you, if that's alright," he murmered, "I could use some help getting ready, though." 

The air was cool on Gilmoren's bare ass, and he missed the other man's warmth. But he dropped to his knees as Ralof sat up. He ran his hands up Ralof's bare thighs, until he felt the warmth of Ralof's arousal.

"May I?" he asked, wetting his lips. Ralof groaned, more quietly now, and reached out a hand. Gilmoren let him tangle a hand in his hair, and lead his mouth down to his arousal. The initial contact made Ralof stiffen, though he was running his hands through Gilmoren's hair gently. Gilmoren ran his tongue gently up and down his shaft, before using his tongue to swallow him down. Ralof murmered half assed praises that made Gilmoren hum happily, despite their mild awkwardness. He liked it. There was something incredibly appealing about a man too aroused to put on a good face. He reached between his legs and lightly ran his fingers over his own arousal: Gilmoren was not a shy lover, but tonight he wanted his own hands in control. He was on his knees, but felt tall as Ralof squirmed and tugged at his hair. 

Knowing he would grow tired soon, Gilmoren pulled off with a  _ pop _ and crawled into Ralof's lap. Ralof chuckled and wrapped his arms around his middle, tugging their chests close. Gilmoren had to resist him just a bit so he had enough room to reach in between their bodies, and guide Ralof inside him. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and let his head drop to Ralof's shoulder. Ralof was hugging him snugly now, and pressed kisses to his head. 

"Gods above, I'm fucking the Dragonborn." 

That made Gilmoren laugh out loud, and the resulting vibrations made Ralof groan in his ear. Gilmoren started slowly grinding his hips in circles. 

"Are you going to brag about it? Tell your friends you bedded a man of legend, hmm?" he laughed, not taking himself seriously, but still enjoying it. He felt warm and full and needy, and Ralof made him feel haughty. Ralof whispered "yes" in his ear over and over, his hands traveling down to Gilmoren's hips and urging him up. Gilmoren obliged, lifting his hips just enough to slam back down into the taller man's lap. They whispered silly things and moaned against each other's skin as they fucked. Later their words would make Gilmoren blush, but at the moment they were perfect. 

Gilmoren came in shakes, trembling hard against Ralof's sturdy frame. Ralof murmered encouragements at him, before taking a hard hold of his hips and fucking up into him. Gilmoren let Ralof fuck him hard, feeling the way the other man was tensing and straining to catch up. He just held on tightly, too tired to speak, but humming appreciatively. When Ralof came, he pulled out abruptly, pushing up Gilmoren's shirt to paint his chest. 

When Ralof had finished, Gilmoren rolled off of him and onto his back, smiling and out of breath. Ralof was laughing softly, which turned into drunk giggles. 

"What's so funny?" Gilmoren murmered, mentally mourning how far his pack was from the bed. 

"I just fucked a legend. Of  _ course _ I'm telling my entire batallion. I'll tell Ulfric Stormcloak himself, if he'll listen." he said between giggles. He reached over to where he had abandoned his mug. Gilmoren bumbled up and grabbed his pack, fussing for a hankie to clean himself off with. He felt gross and sticky, but was officially tired enough not to care too much. As he tried to make himself clean enough to sleep, Ralof laced his pants and stood.

"I enjoyed that, my friend. I hope that you won't be offended by my leaving, I don't sleep well next to someone." 

Gilmoren gave him a sleepy thumbs up. Ralof grabbed his hand and planted a sloppy kiss on it.

"Goodnight, Dragonborn."

"I like it better when you call me 'friend'".

"Then goodnight Dragonborn, my dear friend. Rest well." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this is not the best example of safe sex. Gilmoren is infertile, but you should use condoms. please.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter in this fic. I’m absolutely obsessed with Gilmoren and am really enjoying writing about him. There will be sequels, so stay tuned for those if you like. I also scream about him on my twitter all the time, and cosplay him on my tiktok: both handles are @cjgatsbypgh 

Gilmoren woke up with a slight burning between his legs. He cursed his drunk self for not taking a piss before going to sleep. He rolled out of bed and fussed looking for a clean shirt, impatient to find a bathing room. When he did, he scrubbed himself quickly, relieved himself, and instantly felt like a new man. He seemed to have awoken before Lydia; he got some fruit and tea from the man behind the counter, and took a seat. The main room was quiet this morning, most of the inn's occupants were probably sleeping off hangovers. Gilmoren wondered how Ralof was feeling, and briefly considered leaving him a note. He decided against it. Ralof was a good man, but too invested in a war that Gilmoren had decided to avoid. At least for now, he had plenty of other things to focus on. As he ate, his mind drifted to the horn in his pack, and again he considered simply leaving for the mountain. Gilmoren had read plenty of books about animals written by Y’ffre priests: animal populations grow and shrink over centuries due to a myriad of circumstances. Maybe the dragons had simply migrated far from Skyrim, never extinct, just far away. And now they were migrating back. That wasn’t an impossibility. Delphine’s speculations on the other hand were...insane. Dragons being resurrected? Gilmoren didn’t know much about necromancy: only a bit of vague information he had found in books about magic. But necromancy could only go so far. From his understanding, necromancy really only reanimated a corpse like a puppet or a draugr. These dragons had  _ souls.  _ What kind of magic could not only reanimate a corpse, but return it’s soul from...wherever souls go? It just didn’t sound possible. 

But Gilmoren hadn’t known before that absorbing dragon souls was a skill someone could possibly possess. A month ago, he couldn’t have even imagined magic like that. What other kinds of magic were out there in the world that he didn’t know about? Flame spells overwhelmed him, he wasn’t exactly an expert. 

Assuming resurrecting dragons was feasible, could the Thalmor have that kind of power? Delphine had said she was worried about him being a Thalmor plant, so did she think the Thalmor were to blame? Gilmoren’s political knowledge was minimal, mostly rumors that were likely ill informed. But they were a large, mysterious organization, certainly the type to have immense power in story books. 

If someone - Thalmor or otherwise - was resurrecting dragons, they were putting people in danger. 

They also were not someone Gilmoren was eager to face.

But Delphine seemed convinced that he was an important piece of the puzzle. As tempting as it was to hole up in the Greybeards, he had to at least try to help. He took a bite of his apple. 

_ Why does it have to be me?  _

__

  
  


Travelling with Delphine was...uncomfortable. Lydia’s attempts at chatting were met with gruff and short responses, which pissed her off. The irritated energy rolled off both of them in waves. 

Gilmoren hung back a bit from them to avoid it, letting the two women lead the way and scowl at each other. After a bit Lydia seemed to give up and she slowed her path to match Gilmoren’s. They chatted about the last time they had sparred and the progress they were making as a well synched pair. She pressed that he should start seriously working on his restoration magic

“There are spells to heal other people, right? It would be nice for you to back me up with that up your sleeve.” she pointed out. 

“Don’t call the Dragonborn your back up, have some respect.” Delphine barked over her shoulder. Gilmoren did a double take, but had the awareness to place a hand on Lydia’s arm before she lashed out. 

“Actually I do back Lydia up in battle. She’s much more experienced than me, and I trust her judgement.” he said in a tone of voice that left no room for argument. Delphine still had her back to them, but he felt her roll her eyes. 

“I suppose she and I will take the lead with this dragon, then.” she replied flatly. 

“If there is one,” Lydia muttered under her breath. Gilmoren chuckled. 

“Anyway, yes, there are spells like that. I wonder if the Greybeards know any Restoration magic.” 

“Perhaps, but if not you could speak with Farangar about it the next time we go through Whiterun.” 

Their conversation turned to Whiterun: they debated for a bit how Whiterun would fit into their plans. Once Gilmoren was safe with the Greybeards, Lydia would return to Whiterun. She would do odd jobs while waiting for him, and inquire after Breezehome for him. They went back and forth a bit about what to do when Gilmoren was ready to join her: Lydia wanted him to send word ahead, and she could come to fetch him. Gilmoren was completely unsure of when he would return, and didn’t think it fair to keep her waiting at the edge of her seat for him. They eventually settled that Gilmoren would send word if he was staying more than a full month, so Lydia knew he wasn’t lost in the woods and in need of rescuing. 

The trio was coming up on a hill when a person in a dress came running towards them. The look on their face was frantic. Gilmoren pulled out his glasses as they approached. 

“No, you have to go the other way, there’s a dragon!” the person yelled as soon as they were close enough to be heard, “It swooped down from the sky out of nowhere! You have to run!”

Delphine caught the person by their shoulders. 

“Are you hurt?” she asked as the person pulled away. 

“No, I ran as soon as I saw it!” 

“Alright, get to the bottom of this hill and find somewhere to hide,” Delphine instructed. Lydia and Gilmoren were readying their weapons behind her. They hadn’t even spotted the dragon yet, and Gilmoren’s hands were already trembling as he notched an arrow and held his bow low. He and Lydia met eyes, and she gave him a tight smile. 

“Feel ready for another one?”

“Absolutely not.”

The person ran down the hill, and the trio started jogging in the wrong direction. As they got closer to Kynesgrove they could see the smoke billowing up towards the sky, and hear people screaming in fear. The sound made Gilmoren’s throat tighten. This was just Helgen again, it came out of nowhere and no one knew what to do, why had he thought he’d be any fucking help - 

Lydia grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him out of the way as a shadow appeared over them. Gilmoren could  _ feel  _ the dragon before he actually laid eyes on it; he felt a tug in his chest that made his blood run hot and fast. If you looked at his bare chest, he was sure you would have been able to watch his heart beat through his skin. The three crouched in the shadow of the house as the dragon flew overhead, screaming unintelligible, angry nonsense from the sky. Gilmoren raised his bow, but Delphine reached out an arm. 

“What happened to ‘ladies take the lead’? Not yet, I want to see what it’s doing.”

“What do you mean, see what it’s doing? It’s about to destroy a town, that’s what it’s doing. I believe you, you were right, let’s stop it.” he was panicking, clinging to his bow like a lifeline, and she looked so  _ fucking _ calm. 

“That dragon is why we’re here, but we aren’t just here to kill it. Come on, stay in the shadows.” she barked. Lydia looked back at Gilmoren, who gave her a nod, trying to hold in his anger. What the  _ fuck _ was she talking about, and  _ why _ the fuck hadn’t she told him more? But he didn’t feel like he had any option but to see this through, so he clamped his mouth shut and followed Delphine. They followed the dragon as it flew right outside the town, raining fire down and screaming as they went. They had to jump and dodge the flames, the heat disorienting. Gilmoren pushed his hood back, desperate to cool off. When they got close enough, he could see the sweat pooling on Lydia’s brow: she had to be soaking wet under her steel armor. He worried about the potential of the metal melting against her skin, and made a note to keep an eye out for it. That concern grounded him as he struggled to keep his mind from travelling back to Helgen. The smoke around him now was real, but somehow the memory competed for his attention. 

When they passed the last house they crouched against a slight swell in the land, and they watched the dragon land on a large stone circle on the ground. The dragon’s claws scratched against the stone as it landed, making a noise almost as awful as its voice. But the dragon wasn’t screaming anymore: it’s Voice had taken on a deeper tone, rumbling from the depths of its massive belly. This dragon was somehow bigger than the one at Helgen. Or the one at Whiterun. Gilmoren could hardly fathom this creature whose scales were as big as his torso. 

The dragon spoke in a Voice that was surprisingly quieter than the Greybeards had been, but still rattled the ground and made the three reach for their ears. Gilmoren expected for something to come from its mouth: maybe flames or force to trigger a rune? But nothing seemed to happen for a moment. It became eerily quiet as its Voice faded out. Even the screams of the townspeople seemed muted. 

Then the stone slab began to shake violently, while the rest of the ground stayed solid. Gilmoren crouched lower anyway, expecting an earthquake any moment. But instead the shaking seemed to become more and more focused towards the middle of the circle, until the stone cracked like an egg. 

As the dragon started to rise up to the sky, what looked like a mass of bones forced itself through the stone. It rolled around the rubble and into the air, surrounded by blue light that seemed to take hold of each bone and pull it into place. The bones rumbled together until they formed a full dragon skeleton. When the bones were settled in place, organs and muscle and meat started to grow out of them like horrible mushrooms. Gilmoren’s entire body was shaking at this point, and he struggled not to retch up his breakfast as the stink of rotted flesh filled the air. Even though they were out in the open, the stench seemed more potent than in the deepest draugr cave. Lydia’s face was also contorted with disgust, and her knuckles were white against the handle of her sword. Delphine had her back to them, fully engrossed in the dragon’s birth. It was coming back to life in a backwards mockery of nature. 

That first dragon had already disappeared over the horizon, and Gilmoren wondered where it was heading next. Did it cause this? Did it have knowledge of necromancy that terrible?

When the dragon in front of them grew its last scale, it shuddered and let out a scream. It was shrill, but then morphed into a Shout that sent fire at least thirty feet to the front. 

Apparently Delphine had seen all she needed to, as she charged headlong at the Dragon, yelling curses at it. Lydia bolted after her, Gilmoren following further behind. It took all of his concentration to hold his bow straight; his teeth were chattering so hard his glasses shook. Luckily for them, this young dragon didn’t seem to understand how to fly: it was flapping its wings at odd angles but not strong enough to lift itself up. Instead it screamed fire and charged at Delphine. Delphine had a Ward up as she charged: she hadn’t told Gilmoren she was a mage. He struggled to keep both Lydia and Delphine in sight as he shot at the dragon, not wanting to accidentally hit one of them. He was a good shot and his arrows hit, but only enough to infuriate the dragon. Delphine was right at it’s head now, slashing at it with her sword, spilling blood but it was hard to ascertain exactly how much damage was being done. 

Gilmoren didn’t understand how generals stayed clear headed during war. People like Ulfric Stormcloak had to be smart and strategic even while their blood was pounding in their ears. People depended on leaders like that to keep them alive. But Gilmoren’s mind became hazy as they fought: his body was going through the routine of shooting, but he couldn’t make his eyes focus. Somewhere he could hear Lydia yelling his name, but she sounded like she was a hundred miles away. How could he instruct the people following him, when he could barely tell which way was up?

When the dragon’s eyes met his, he had a split second of clarity. The dragon saw right through to him, understood every part of him. It was driven by hundreds of years of rage, and it had been waiting for the Dragonborn that entire time. It’s anger cut through the fog in his brain, and the world felt real again. 

“Get down!” he yelled, dropping his bow and striding forward. He felt the energy pulling him and the dragon together, and he used it like a slingshot. 

  
  


_ FUS DOH RO  _

  
  


Gilmoren and the dragon were blown in opposite directions: they hit the ground at the same time. They both fell heavy, Gilmoren swearing more than the dragon probably was. He couldn’t tell. He looked up, and saw a few yards away. Delphine was yelling something, but his ears were ringing too loudly to hear her. He looked back at the dragon, which had landed on its back and stirred up dust clouds. It shuddered with the impact, and then was still. His head was spinning, but he tried to push back up to his feet, looking for Delphine again to explain what the  _ fuck _ just happened. She looked at him and opened her mouth again, but then saw something behind him and her face dropped. Sheathing her sword, she started sprinting full force. Gilmoren followed her path and his eyes fell on Lydia, lying in a heap. There was a pool of blood underneath her head. 

His heart dropped. 

His throat was so raw it felt nearly closed, and he choked on the dust and smoke. The clarity of his connection was leaving him, and he fought to focus. Clutching his head to fight off the ringing in his ears, Gilmoren stumbled and reached Lydia just a moment after Delphine did. Delphine had pulled off a glove and was fluttering her bare hand over Lydia’s neck. Her other hand was glowing faintly, building up power as the other hand searched for a pulse. Delphine dropped both her hands, and shook her head. She was saying something but Gilmoren still couldn’t hear, he couldn’t  _ fucking _ hear, and his heart was pounding painfully in his chest as he gasped for air - 

Soft tendrils of light were curling around him. They were warm, but didn’t burn. The ringing in his ears started to die down. His heart rate slowed to a more normal rate, and the ache in his throat started to soothe itself. The dragon’s soul enveloped him and settled into his skin while he stared at his best friend’s body. 

When the light died down, he looked over at Delphine. She was watching him closely, wearing an expression of horror and relief. 

“So you really are the Dragonborn.” she said. 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm so sorry

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to school to be an ASL interpreter and I realized there is a definite need for a signed language in Skyrim. I would LOVE to connect with some Deaf people who have ideas of what it could look like.


End file.
